Gray
by RaisingAmara
Summary: Sam opens a cleverly disguised curse box for his birthday.
1. Chapter 1

Sam stared dejectedly out the back passenger window of the Impala and felt small. The rain outside trickled sideways along the thick glass in depressing rivulets, and everywhere Sam looked, it was gray.

Sam was so tired of gray.

Dad was angry with him, but newsflash, when wasn't Dad angry with him? Dean though - that was a horse of a different color. Sam couldn't stand being on the outs with his big brother.

The kid sighed. Some birthday. He'd been looking forward to it for weeks, dropping hint after hint about maybe actually taking a trip somewhere that didn't involved killing something and burning its corpse afterward. So far in his young life, Sam had been to the Florida Everglades where Dad had taken out an ancient basilisk with a knife dipped in the scent glands of a weasel, to Jamestown, Virginia, where a spring-heeled jack had nearly pranked Dean to death, and to Aspen, Colorado where a lone gorilla-wolf, escaped from Purgatory, had taken a chunk out of Sam's left calf and left him with an impressive scar and an even more impressive run of terrifying nightmares to remember it by.

The Winchester family vacations thus far had kind of sort of sucked.

But once, just this once, Sam had hoped for a little slice of normal. He was almost an adult, at least officially, and he'd wanted to do something together as a family - something he could actually take pictures of and remember later. Who knew what could happen tomorrow? Who knew if there'd even be a tomorrow? They were hunters, after all.

Sam wanted to see a spectacular waterfall with a rainbow shimmering on it. He'd seen them in books - the colors appearing as graduating hues of, what else? Gray. Still, it'd be cool to see and to imagine. Or maybe a snow-capped mountain against the vivid blue of a Montana sky. He'd have to concentrate hard to think what it really looked like, but he'd heard people describe such things.

Most days, Sam never thought much about his color-blindness, but sometimes, on days like today, when the rain came down in torrents both inside and out, he gave in to the luxury of waxing sorry for things he couldn't control and just felt sad.

Sam didn't ask his father for much, but this was his sixteenth birthday - kind of a big deal in most people's books. And John hadn't even REMEMBERED the day, let alone deigned to celebrate it.

And Dean … Sam shoved the sadness back so hard it almost felt physical. Dean never forgot his birthday. Never. Dean always had a little something waiting on the table for him in the morning -whether it was just a handwritten IOU to see the latest blockbuster or a deliciously new copy of whatever book Sam had been coveting for months.

Sam could always count on Dean to celebrate the day Sam had been born. But things were different this year. There'd been the screw-up at the cemetery, and Dean was thoroughly pissed. And instead of a leisurely birthday breakfast at the local greasy spoon, Sam got a rude middle-of-the-night awakening and the bum's rush out to the car.

Seemed there was a hunt out Wyoming way, and John, Dean and Sam had gotten drafted with not even a "happy birthday, Sam" from his dad or his big brother to commemorate the day.

And Sam was a realist. He knew birthdays got less attention as you got older, and he knew Dad and Dean were distracted by the hunt. He was old enough now that a forgotten birthday shouldn't be the big deal it was when he was 12.

Still, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that he mattered less by the day. Dad had Dean, and Dean had Dad, and all Sam ever managed to do was screw things up.

And now Sam sat silent in the back seat as Dad and Dean discussed the new case with ever-mounting enthusiasm.

They were two peas in a pod when it came to hunting. And Sam? Sam was just the tall, clumsy wrench in the works. He hated the hunt. He hated being afraid. He hated the fact that one or the other of them always managed to get himself hurt in the process.

"So this guy, Jory - he did the research?" Dean was asking their father. Neither Sam nor Dean had ever met the hunter named Jory.

John nodded. "So I hear."

"He knows his stuff?"

John shrugged. "I assume so, Dean. I've never worked with the guy. Bobby says he's on the up and up though. That's good enough for me."

Dean was silent for a moment. "Just seems weird, you know - all these cursed objects suddenly showing up all at once. He's got no idea where they're coming from?"

"Apparently not, or he wouldn't have called us in."

Dean thought about that. "But you said he's been working the case for a good week and a half. How do you have no leads at all after a week and a half?"

John sighed. "Maybe research ain't his thing, Dean."

"Hunh." Dean replied, unconvinced. Then, under his breath but still loudly enough for Sam to hear, he mumbled. "Maybe this Jory guy has a whiny brat of a kid brother doing the research for him too."

Sam's felt his face flame, as his eyes met his Dad's in the rear-view, and he had to blink superfast to keep tears from falling.

"Dean." John reprimanded gently, aware of how badly the older boy's words had hurt his youngest.

"What?" Dean countered. "You're pissed too, Dad. Don't deny it." Dean turned in the seat then and tossed a scathing look into the backseat. "If Sam would get his crap together and stop whining about all the "normal" things His Highness has never seen or done, maybe he wouldn't be sitting back there right now with a burned foot."

And that right there, Sam thought, was the root of the problem. Sam had gotten hurt three days ago when a ghost had knocked him into the hole Dean and Dad had just dug and crawled out of. Even worse, Dean had just poured the kerosene and dropped the match into the hole a split-second before Casper had hip-checked Sam into it. Sam could still hear his brother's bellow as he felt himself falling, feet-first, into the inferno, had been hearing it in his dreams for the past two nights.

Sam was supposed to be keeping watch, but instead, he'd been going on and on about how close they were to the Pocono Mountains and about how maybe they could make the short drive up. Dad had just rolled his eyes and sent a killer glare in Sam's direction when, POW! Casper made his move. Sam didn't even have the opportunity to yell as he'd rocketed off the bank of loose dirt into the flames, and he'd never get the sound of Dean's horror out of his head, not if he lived to be a hundred. Even then, Sam was sure he'd still remember how desperate Dean's voice had been when he'd thought Sam was going to die.

Luckily, Dad had been able to think on his feet. He'd reached down and grasped the collar of Sam's coat almost before the kid even had time to hit bottom. He'd pulled the boy up and over with the super-human strength of a parent terrified of losing a child, and all Sam had as a reminder of the ordeal was a burned foot and a brother who was probably never going to forgive him.

"I said I was sorry." Sam mumbled, risking a glance up at Dean and wishing he hadn't. His brother's face was all hard lines and unforgiving scowl, and it hurt Sam's heart to look at it.

"Yeah? Well sorry don't mean shit, Sam. You almost died." Dean shot back. Turning back around, he addressed their father. "We should have just left him somewhere, Dad. Until he gets his head in the game, he's not safe to take on a hunt."

Sam's eyes widened in disbelief that Dean would actually say something like that. His brother was almost always on his team - even when it meant taking sides against their father. He was almost tempted to try and defend himself, but one look at Dean's angry profile, and he decided against it. Instead, Sam sighed more loudly than he meant to and stared out the window.

And in return, Dean snorted and shook his head. "Unbelievable." the older boy muttered, as though Sam was the most ridiculous thing that had ever stood on two, well, on one, foot.

Sam shook his head silently and swiped at his eyes. It was going to be a long, miserable ride. "Happy birthday, Sam." He muttered quietly to himself. "Don't enjoy it too much."

###

Dean was pissed. In fact, he was so pissed that he was sure the definition of pissed was a picture of Dean Winchester - pissed. Part of it, he knew, was irritation with Sam that the kid hadn't had his guard up like Dean had taught him. But most of it, he realized, was anger at himself for letting Sam get into that situation in the first place.

Dean should have been paying attention. He should have had Sammy in his sights. Dean knew the kid had trouble distinguishing between colors at night - especially between a transparent haunt and the surrounding black woods. Instead, he'd been secretly congratulating himself on his ability to set a good and speedy fire when, without warning, Sam's body had hurtled past him, straight into hell.

It happened so fast that at first Dean had thought it was the ghost trying to dive into the grave and douse the flames. It wasn't until the blurred shape was past him and in the hole that Dean realized it had been wearing a denim jacket. He'd screamed then. He was sure of it. The feeling of fear and horror that his little brother was about to burn alive in a fire that he'd set himself … well … it was too much.

Good thing Dad had managed to keep his shit together. The old man had reached right into the bowels of Hell and popped up with one lightly toasted little brother in tow.

And Dean. Dean was just so … so damned terrified. He was so terrified that it made him feel pissed as hell. And when Dean was pissed, he tended to take it out on everyone around him. He knew he was being cruel to Sam, but it was like someone had removed the filter between the pissed side of his brain and his mouth and launched him directly at the kid.

Dean couldn't shut the hell up. And that just made him more pissed.

It was an ugly cycle.

"Don't forget to make that freakin' side trip for that special antibiotic burn ointment." Dean complained to his father. "Not like that's waste of a good hour or anything. I mean, it ain't like people are dyin'."

And as his father remained silent and pinned him with a look that would have killed a lesser man, Dean turned toward the window and hated himself for the small broken voice that drifted up from the backseat.

"It's okay. I don't need it." Sam said quietly. "It's not important."

The youngest Winchester turned his eyes away from the rear view mirror then and back to the bleak outside where a light gray sky met a darker gray horizon line. Somewhere, there was color for Sam; he was sure of it - sure he wasn't meant to spend his entire life locked down in shades of grayest gray.

That would just be too depressing.


	2. All There Is

_**Author's Note:** THANK YOU! I'm loving the feedback on this story :)_

Dean grabbed his own duffle and the weapons bag and slammed the trunk of the Impala closed practically in his brother's face, smirking. He waited for Sam's trademark huff and whine, but the air behind him remained uncharacteristically silent. He frowned and half turned, ready to fend off one annoyed baby brother, but the look on Sam's face stopped him in his tracks.

The kid just stood staring at the closed trunk with glazed eyes that looked more blank than angry. Sam's eyes traveled upward then, to take in Dean's hands filled with gear. The kid's eyes met his for a brief moment in time, then skittered away. Dean frowned when Sam simply turned on his heel and hobbled away.

"I'm gonna look around a bit." Sam directed his remark toward John, who nodded as he unlocked the rickety door to the motel room.

"Be back before dark, and don't go too far. You have your phone?" John questioned, staring after his youngest.

Sam smiled faintly and nodded the affirmative.

Dean's eyes shot from Sam's back to his father's face. "What the hell, Dad?"

John played dumb, "Something wrong, Dean?"

"You just gonna let him wander off like that?"

John pinned him then with a cold stare. "Seems more kind than letting you keep hitting him with potshots. Can't really blame him for wanting a little space, can we?"

Dean had the courtesy to blush. "Come on. He knows I'm just razzing him." he said, stepping inside the damp room and tossing both bags on the nearest bed. "He can't go walkin' around out there alone, Dad. The curses …"

But John wasn't having it. "Dean." He said firmly, turning to face his oldest. "You've done nothing but aim below-the-belt comments at your brother for the last 200 miles. He knows he screwed up. He's apologized twenty times if he's apologized once. You're the one who won't let it go. Now give the kid some space." John stepped close and glared. "That's an order, you understand?"

Dean swallowed, nodding. He turned back to the bed to begin unpacking his belongings, but his eyes shot to the open door. Sam was nowhere in sight. He fidgeted for a minute then made for the parking lot.

"Dean." John said firmly.

"What? I'm just gonna go grab Sam's bag." the older boy lied.

"Maybe you should have done that before you locked it in the trunk." John said, letting Dean know he'd seen the boy's antics. "Sam can get his own bag. I need you right here right now." He handed Dean his battered laptop. "Since you don't like the way your brother does it, you can get started on the research. Over there." He tipped his head toward the only table in the room.

Dean stood by the door, hesitating. "Dad …" He started.

"NOW, Dean." John replied, the look on his face speaking volumes.

Dean took the offered laptop and reluctantly made for the corner. He pushed the table close to the window and propped the blind open with the coffee maker. He sat studying the parking lot until his father cleared his throat loudly. Dean opened the computer then and began typing.

"I'm making a dinner run. I'll be back in twenty. You don't leave this room. You hear me?"

Dean looked up, incredulous. "Dad! What if Sam …? He started.

But John was adamant. "You've made it perfectly clear to Sam how you feel about him at the moment. That boy needs to walk it off, Dean. And if I hear about you tracking him down and harassing him any more, you'll deal with me. You get it?"

Dean swallowed. Had he really been that pissy? "Yeah. I get it." He growled, unhappy about the situation but unwilling to push things too far with his father. "Twenty minutes. I got it."

"Good." John stated. He glanced down at the laptop. "You get done there, you can unpack your bag and mine. Might give you something to do besides think up mean things to say to your brother." John gave him a dark look and slipped out the door, leaving Dean sitting at the table alone and feeling like a dick.

###

Sam limped left out of the parking lot, wishing Dean hadn't locked his crutch inside the trunk. His foot was killing him, and technically, he probably shouldn't be dragging his clean bandage through the dirty gravel. In fact, he was surprised Dad had even let him go. Normally, it'd be Dean who'd be hovering over him like a cranky hen, but Sam guessed that was over with after what happened at the cemetery.

Maybe Dean was trying to put some space between them so it wouldn't hurt so badly the next time Sam screwed up and nearly got himself killed.

Sam wandered aimlessly until he'd turned a corner between two buildings. He traversed the short length of the alley and caught his breath. In front of him stretched a gorgeous expanse of beach, topped by a sunset that Sam just knew had to be spectacular. He smiled and wandered down to the rock wall that separated the sand from the grass. Sitting down, he pulled his good knee up, wrapped both arms around it and rested his chin on top, trying to ignore the throbbing in his other foot. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep.

He could smell the fresh, fishy scent of the sea, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could block out the sounds of traffic and listen to the waves gently breaking on the beach.

"Did you ever in your life see such a vivid pink?" Sam heard a voice behind him say. He opened his eyes to find two women walking past. They appeared to be mother and daughter, and it was the older one who'd spoken.

"I know! I've never seen a sunset so beautiful." the daughter replied, smiling down at Sam as they passed by. "We don't get sunsets like that back in Utah."

The mother laughed, agreeing. The conversation continued as they ambled slowly away, and the younger woman pulled out a camera and began taking the odd shot here and there. Sam watched them disappear into the distance and thought about that.

Pink.

He wondered what pink looked like. He knew it was the color of roses and of the cheeks of blushing babies. Dean had once had a pink button-down that a girl he'd dated in high school bought him. To Sam, it just looked white, but Dean had explained to him that it was pink - the color of whipped manhood.

Sam smiled sadly, remembering. Dean had refused to wear the shirt. The girl had gotten pissed, and Dad had yanked them out of town the next day anyway. The next time he'd seen the shirt, it was on the grass, and Dean was using it as a ground cover while he changed the oil in the Impala.

Sam shook his head. Every time he'd gotten pissed at Dean after that, Sam had wanted to buy him a pink shirt and pretend he thought it was white. He knew Dean would wear it regardless because it was Sam who had bought it for him. And then every time he saw his brother in it, Sam could chuckle over his private joke.

But Sam had never had anyone to help him pick out the shirt, so the prank had gone untried. And these days, Sam realized, Dean probably wouldn't worry about wearing it anyway. He sighed.

"That's a mighty big sigh for a fifteen-year-old," John said, settling down beside Sam on the wall. He smiled over at the boy and handed him a cup of take-out coffee.

Sam's brows shot skyward in surprise. Dad had never brought him coffee before. He took a drink and tried not to wince. It was strong and black - the way both Dad and Dean liked their coffee. Sam preferred his sweet and light.

But hey, Dad had tried. And Sam didn't even mind so much that John had his age wrong. He was just surprised the man had cared enough to come looking.

Sam smiled. "Thanks." He said, taking another sip.

John nodded, nursing a cup of his own. "So …" he said, trailing off.

"So …" Sam replied, lost.

John sighed. "Sam, I'm so bad at this. Mary … This was more Mary's cup of tea than mine, you know? Talking to people?"

Sam sat stunned. Dad never talked about his mother. Not to Sam. Not ever. "Uh, that's okay."

John sighed again, "No Sam. It's not. The way Dean and I have been treating you is not okay. You just …" He trailed off, took another sip for courage. "You just … you scared the bejesus out of us, boy."

Sam looked away, embarrassed.

"But it wasn't your fault. It was mine. I know you have trouble seeing at night. You should have never been out there to begin with. And since I did take you with me, I had the responsibility to look out for you, and I didn't do it. And … and I'm sorry."

Sam's jaw dropped.

John chuckled, "So … how's the foot? And don't lie to me either."

Sam gathered his wits enough to answer. "Hurts."

John nodded, stood up. He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Don't be out here too long, okay? We need to get that cleaned up and rebandaged."

Sam nodded. "I won't."

John smiled down at him almost … fondly? "We good?" the older man asked.

Sam nodded, still shocked, "Yeah, Dad. We're good."

"Good. See you in the trenches then." John said, walking back the way he'd come. After he'd gone a few feet, he broke out into an aimless whistle, leaving Sam to stare after him incredulously.

###

"Where the hell is he, Dad?" Dean paced. It had been a good hour since John had made it back with the food, and it was full-on dark outside the motel room. "You told him to be back before dark."

John nodded, relenting. "Go get him. He's down by the beach."

Dean came up short. "He's down … How do you know?"

"Because I saw him down there, Dean. There's a jetty. Sam's sitting on the wall, watching the sunset."

Oh.

The sunset.

Dean felt a flash of guilt.

Sam had never really seen a sunset, and it was rare that he complained about it. This new thing … this … restlessness … Dean suddenly wondered if it was tied somehow to Sam's color blindness.

"I'll be back." he said shortly, grabbing both his jacket and Sam's. He slipped out the door and made his way toward the sound of waves breaking on the shore.

It took a bit of maneuvering in the dark, but Dean eventually found Sam exactly where Dad had said he would be. The sun had long since set though, and just the lights of the marina remained shining down on black water. He cleared his throat.

"Hey, Dean." Sam spoke softly without turning around.

"What happened to bein' back before dark?" Dean settled down beside his brother on the rock wall and tossed the kid's jacket across his slight shoulders.

Sam shrugged, eyes closed, just enjoying the feel of the damp ocean breeze on his face.

Dean jostled him. "You sleepin'?"

"It's pretty here is all. Didn't want to leave."

"What? You're not excited to see your side of the motel room of the week?" Dean kidded.

Sam shrugged again. "Seen one motel room, seen 'em all."

Dean's eyes narrowed. Sam sounded so … resigned. It made Dean's heart hurt. "Listen, Sammy … I know you want to see stuff and go places. That's normal when you're fifteen …"

"Sixteen." Sam cut him off.

Dean snorted, "You ain't …" He began, then stopped, horrified. Son of a bitch. Dean desperately tried to calculate the date.

"S'no big deal, Dean. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Sammy … "

"What?"

Dean couldn't believe his own stupidity. He'd never forgotten Sam's birthday. Never. Not once in fifteen years. Dammit. And not only did he forget, he'd been treating the kid like garbage for the past three days.

"Sam. I'm so sorry. I … I guess we caught up in that last hunt and …"

"I know. It's okay."

"It's not okay. It's pretty damned far from okay."

Sam shrugged. "Water under the bridge, Dean." He turned then and looked at Dean and the older boy winced at the pain he saw there. "Let's go back. Dad's probably worried." Sam stood.

Dean followed Sam up. "Listen Sammy, I'll make it up to you, I promise. The next thing you see that you want, you tell me, okay?"

Sam nodded, having no intention of doing anything of the kind. He paused suddenly, and turned to look back over the water. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"You think … you ever wonder if this is … you know … all there is?"

Dean swallowed hard, chose his words carefully. "What do you mean?"

Sam bit his lip. "I don't know. I just … I mean … sometimes …"

"What?"

"Just … you know - one motel room, one monster - one after another and another and another. Just seems like there should be more, I guess."

Dean pondered this as he walked slowly beside his limping brother. "Well, I mean … we save lives, right? It's not everybody who can say that." He replied, worried. Sam sounded so sad all of a sudden.

"I guess."

Dean was silent for a moment, then, "What would you like, Sammy? I mean … if you could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?"

Sam replied instantly, firmly, and without hesitation. "Color."

Dean closed his eyes and fought down something that felt horrifyingly like tears.

Sam must have noticed because in the next instant, the younger boy had slapped him upside the head. "You cryin'?" He teased, effectively changing the subject.

Dean snorted. "Batman doesn't cry, bitch."

Sam smiled sadly in the darkness. "You're a jerk, Dean." He noted, tugging on the door to their motel room. "Did Dad ever make it back? I'm starving."

 ** _-To Be Continued-_**


	3. All There Isn't

Dean rolled his eyes and glanced up from his careful unwrapping of Sam's trashed bandage. "The mall, Dad? Really?"

John chuckled. "Yes, Dean. The mall. Think you'll survive it?"

Dean shook his head, exaggerating his voice. "Well, I don't know. It's THE MALL. Why the hell we goin' there anyway?"

"Because everyone who opened a curse box was a teenager, Dean." Sam said, like it explained everything. He caught his breath as Dean came to the end of the gauze and tugged as the last little bit pulled free of Sam's foot.

Dean froze, grimacing. "Sorry, Sammy." He looked up. "You good?"

Sam nodded, holding his breath. His foot was on fire.

"Yeah, you look good, gimpy." Dean noted, shaking his head again and returning to his work. He gently positioned Sam's toasted foot over the basin of tepid water and carefully began trickling the water down over it.

Sam lay his head back on the top of the headboard and gritted his teeth.

John tried for a distraction. "Jory said every kid who opened a curse box was dead within a week. Whatever this is, it's fast-moving."

Dean whistled. "Still, why the mall?"

"Well, it's a town of less than 1,000 people, Dean." John explained. "If you were a kid in a nowhere town like this, where would you go for fun?"

Sam snorted, his eyes closed, "nearest backseat."

Dean stopped his ministrations long enough to shoot Sam the stink eye. He couldn't believe the kid actually said that in front of Dad.

John shook his head, stifling the chuckle that tried to escape. "Okay, if you weren't Dean Winchester, and you were a kid in a nowhere town like this one, where?"

Sam risked a peek out of one eye to find Dean still frozen in place, glaring at him. He giggled. "The mall?"

"The mall." John repeated, rising and moving to stand over his boys. "It's not infected, is it?"

Dean shook his head, resuming the gentle bathing of his brother's foot. "No, it looks real good, actually, despite Sam tryin' his damndest to get the thing to fall off." He looked up at his father. "You get the antibiotic ointment?"

John nodded, retrieving a pharmacy bag from the kitchen and shaking it out over Sam's bed. A tube of prescription ointment rolled out, along with three rolls of fresh gauze, white medical tape, a bottle of migraine medicine, a box of surgical gloves and a bag of brilliantly colored gummy worms.

Dean stared. "You bought gummy worms at a pharmacy, Dad? What, you had an extra $7 you didn't have a use for?"

John snorted. "Yeah, well, desperate times and all that." He smiled as Sam's eyes widened and the kid snagged the bag of worms immediately. "I seem to recall someone around here liking the ridiculous things."

Sam smiled up at his father in delight. "Me." He said, tearing the bag open with his teeth. "It's me."

"Green ones are mine." Dean threatened, moving to the sink to wash and disinfect his hands. He dried off, slipped on the surgical gloves and began gently applying the ointment to the worst of Sam's burns. He glanced up once to see what effect his careful strokes were having on his brother, but the kid was elbow deep inside the bag, counting." Dean looked up at Dad gratefully, and the older man nodded, smiling.

"Is this green?" Sam sat dangling a bright purple worm.

"Yeah." Dean told him, smirking as the kid popped it into his mouth and immediately made a face.

"Grape. Yuck."

"That's what you get." Dean replied as he took the sterile roll of gauze from Dad and commenced wrapping.

And when the sticky red gummy worm came flying out of nowhere and adhered itself to Dean's cheek like some weird, fruity parasite, he rolled his eyes and kept on going, despite the gales of laughter erupting from his father and brother.

###

"Here." John said, slipping his glasses case into Sam's hand. "If there's an optical store at that mall, see if you can get these fixed for me."

Sam frowned, recognizing his father's reading glasses and realizing he hadn't seen them in weeks. "What happened to them?"

"Wendigo." John said shortly.

Sam nodded and slipped the glasses into his jacket pocket. He picked up his crutch and followed Dean to the car.

"Let me know if you get anything." John said, clapping Dean on the shoulder.

Dean chuckled, "Could be a while before you hear from us. Might get Sammy a makeover while we're there."

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Sam said sarcastically, pausing between each syllable.

Dean winked at him as he positioned himself behind the wheel. "Come on, Sammy. I heard they just came out with this new eyeliner, and it's too-DIE for. You know you wanna try it."

"You're a jerk, Dean." Sam commented as he maneuvered himself into the front passenger seat. "A real jerk. You know that?"

Dean tossed back his head and laughed. "Ah … you're too easy. Sam. Too easy."

And two hours later, as Sam sat on the bench outside the pretzel stand and watched Dean flirt up yet another cashier to try and get intel, he noticed the optical store. Casting a sideways glance to see Dean still occupied, Sam struggled to his feet and made his way over to the small hole-in-the-wall retailer. He stepped inside and smiled at the young girl behind the register, tugging his father's glasses case out of his pocket as he approached.

"Hi!" The girl chirped. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, uh … these are my dad's and they got broken while he was hunting. Do you know if they can be fixed?" He placed the glasses on the countertop and waited while she examined them.

"Oh, sure! They just need a new nose piece and a couple of screws." She reached beneath the counter. "Just take me a few minutes. You can browse if you want."

Sam smiled again, relieved. "Do you know how much it will cost?" He asked, thinking about the lonely sixteen dollars in his wallet.

The girl flirted up at him. "No charge for you." And with that statement, a tense-looking older man emerged from the back room and eyed Sam up and down, frowning at what he saw.

"Anything I can help you with?" He asked.

Sam frowned, "No thanks. I'm being helped."

The man nodded, his eyes flicking down to the beat-up case and the glasses that were probably older than John.

"I see." He said, accusingly.

But Sam refused to be cowled, choosing instead to stare the man down evenly.

After a moment, the man snorted and turned away, addressing the girl. "Let me know if a real customer comes in?"

The girl nodded, rolling her eyes at Sam and grinning. "Sure will, Lou." She shrugged as he returned to his desk behind the door, and Sam realized then that the glass-fronted mirror behind the register was two-way glass.

"He's an ass. Don't mind Lou." The girl whispered conspiratorially. "Takes a while to get used to him." Then she grinned and shook her head. "No, I'm lying. There's no getting used to Lou. I'm Joanie, by the way."

Sam smiled, "Sam. Nice to meet you."

He turned away then to look over the selection of frames and lenses that hung on the wall. One pair of glasses was tinted purple and seemed to hold a place of honor there among its peers. It rested on a shiny pedestal lined with velvet, with a sign below it that said, "Try Me." Sam read the small sticker that stuck to the bottom corner of the left lens.

"What are Introspecs?" Sam asked, curious. He cocked his head to the side in concentration.

The girl looked up, smiling. "Oh, those are specially designed for people who are color blind. It corrects for missing cone cells in the eyes so they can see all the colors of the spectrum." she chirped, returning to her work like she hadn't just yanked the axis out of Sam's entire planet.

Sam felt the wall in front of him narrow down to just a tunnel as his heart rate picked up, and his stomach did a little flip-flop thing that felt an awful lot like nausea. He reached a quaking hand out, lifted the Introspecs from the pedestal, and placed them carefully on his face.

Sam stood frozen, too afraid to move. Around him, the world shimmered with a strange barrage of foreign hues and tints. He felt dizzy, enclosed. His breathing picked up, and he let out a gasp that must have been audible.

"Are you okay?" He heard Joanie ask, but he couldn't reply. All he could do was stand in place and rotate in a circle, his arms stretched straight out in front of him.

"Sam? Are you … Wait!" Sam heard delight in the girl's voice. "Are you color blind? Is this your first time seeing colors?" She clapped her hands together in glee. "So they really work?"

Sam turned toward her, seeing all the different colors that made up her image. Her hair was one color, her smock another. On her left breast pocket, she wore a name badge that was a third color. In her hair, a headband that sent a riot of messages his way. Joanie was almost more than Sam could bear to take in, but in that moment, he loved her.

"They work." He whispered, and his voice was broken, almost sobbing, and he saw his own tears reflected in Joanie's eyes. She stood behind the counter, hands clapped together at her breast, tears of happiness for Sam making her eyeliner run.

"Oh!" She sniffed. "Don't cry! I'm gonna cry too if you cry!" But she was smiling like a beacon when she said it.

"Dean." Sam murmured, taking a step toward the door. "I wanna … my brother … I gotta. I wanna show Dean." He said, reaching a hand out and running it along the length of the silicone trim that lined the door. The trim was a vibrant, dark color that Sam somehow associated with blood, but he had no idea what to call it.

"Just a minute there, young man!" Sam heard an indignant voice behind him shout. "Where do you think you're going?"

"No, it's okay, Lou! He's color blind!" Sam heard Joanie explain. "He just wants to show his brother. He's not stealing anything."

"I think not!" Lou replied, moving to step in front of Sam and effectively blocking his exit. "You're not leaving the store with those, now hand them over." The blustering man held out his hand for Sam's whole world, and Sam stepped back, his hand moving to clutch at the frames.

"No! I'm not … Don't!" Sam said desperately as the man made a move to reach out toward him. "I just wanna see! Please …I need to get my brother! He'll buy these for me if you'll just let me …"

But the man ignored Sam's pleas, he stood, arms crossed in a confrontational way in front of the boy, determined to stop Sam from leaving the store. "Give. Them. Back." Lou snarled, unfeeling.

But Joanie had seen and heard enough. She shot past Lou out the door and into the mall's main corridor. Standing in the middle of the aisle, she tossed back her head and closed her eyes.

"Dean!" She shouted for all she was worth. "Dean! Sam needs you!"

And she hadn't gotten her eyes opened when the man was there in front of her, death in his expression. He grasped her by both shoulders.

"Where's Sam? Where's my brother?"

"Here!" She said desperately, rushing toward the optical store. "In here! Lou … he's being … he's being a dick!"

But Dean had pushed past her and was inside the store. He took in a cowering Sam in the corner and the beefy, middle-aged man standing over him, and what the hell? Was Sam … was he crying?

Dean roared.

This was so unacceptable. He planted himself in front of Sam and took up the boxer's stance that John had shown him years ago. It had stood him in good stead on more than one occasion, and it seemed like just what the doctor ordered this time too. "I don't know what the hell you think you're doing to my brother, asshole, but it was a mistake."

"Your BROTHER is a fucking NO good, lying, sneaking SHOPlifter!" The man growled, taking a single step back from the formidable force that was Dean Winchester.

"Wrong." Dean said calmly, and clocked him across the jaw. He watched as the man hit the floor in front of him, then he turned to Sam and held out both hands like he would to a frightened animal. Whatever this asshole had said or done, Sam was seriously spooked.

"It's okay, Sammy. It's just me, kid. I'm here. Tell me what's going on."

But Sam just stood there staring at him from behind those ridiculous purple glasses, breathing heavy and not speaking.

"Sam, come on, man. What's goin' on? What's with the ugly shades, hunh?"

Sam smiled then, and even more disconcerting, he reached out and ran a shaking hand through Dean's hair. "Dean." He said, like he'd never seen his brother before.

Dean snorted, confused. "Yeah man. It's me. What the hell's wrong with you, Sammy?"

But in the next moment, Sam was all up in his face, staring. "My God, Dean. Your eyes!"

Dean squinted. "What wrong with my eyes?"

Sam breathed, but it came out a sob. "They're so .. they're so … green." Sam pulled away and clapped a hand over his mouth. He looked Dean up and down like he was trying to commit him to memory, and suddenly Dean was having a hard time speaking himself with his throat all closed up.

"Sam … can you … can you … see me?" He breathed. "I mean .. you know … in color?"

Sam nodded wordlessly, tears running down both cheeks and dripping off his chin.

"It's the Introspecs." Joanie gushed. They correct color blindness." She moved next to Sam and stood running a comforting hand up and down his arm. "He's never seen any color at all, has he?"

"Gray." Sam breathed. "Just gr-gray." He took a shuddering breath, and then, in a rush, his words spewed out like vomit. "These, Dean! I want these!"

And Dean instantly knew what Sam meant. He nodded, grinning from ear to ear. He turned to Joanie. "I'll take the glasses. How much are they?"

But it was a chagrined voice behind him that answered. "That'll be thirty five forty nine." Lou said, adjusting his attitude now that a sale was imminent.

And Dean grabbed Sam by the front of his jacket and grinned like a crazy man. "See there, Sammy? Forty bucks!" He fished out his wallet and turned toward the counter.

But Lou was back to his scathing assessment of the Winchester brothers. He sighed like he was the only adult in the room and repeated the number slowly, as though to a child. "That's three THOUSAND, five hundred and forty-nine dollars." Then he smiled like a little weasel. "Will that be cash or charge?"

And the sound that Sam made at that revelation would haunt Dean for the rest of his days. The older boy gaped at the asshole behind the counter. "Three thousand bucks for the ugliest-ass glasses ever made?"

And the man stared coolly back. "Get out of my store."

But Dean wasn't done yet. "Look, I'm sorry about the punch, okay? I thought you were hurting my brother. I need those glasses."

But Lou just stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Your kind make me sick." He gloated. "Get a job. Get HIM a job. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a shoplifter." He picked up the store phone. "Now I'm calling security to arrest your lying, stealing little bastard of a brother, and we'll let them sort it out." He tossed a disgusted look in Sam's direction. "I hope they toss the little bitch in lock up and throw away the key."

And Dean was tempted then. He was tempted to just knock the guy out, grab Sammy and run, but before he could do it, Sam was standing in front of him.

"You don't need to call anyone." He told Lou softly. "I'll … you can have them back. Just let me … he stood staring at Dean. "Just … please … give me a minute … I need to …"

But Lou reached out then and yanked the glasses off Sam's face. The move was unexpected and harsh, and Sam was unprepared. He fumbled for the glasses, crying out. "Wait! Wait, please! I just wanna see my br-brother … please!"

But Lou slipped the specs down behind the counter and slid the door closed behind them. "Get out before I have you taken out in cuffs." He threatened again.

But Sam couldn't make his feet move.

"Please?" He outright begged, his voice broken and hopeless.

And that's when Dean tugged the kid forward and out the door, steering him toward the parking lot before some mall cop showed up and Dean had to kill him. He was going to be killing enough people in his dreams tonight all ready.

And Sam. Sam was just a big, fat bag of heartbreak. Dean bundled him into the Impala and shot out for the home-du-jour, with the kid sobbing like his world was ending the whole way.

"I'm s-sorry." Sam cried brokenly. "I c-can't help it, Dean! I c-can't muh-make it st-stop!"

And Dean yanked the kid close and nestled him into his shoulder, matching him tear for tear and running a hand up and down his arm to offer some small bit of comfort.

It wasn't all the colors of the rainbow, but it was all Dean had.


	4. Resilience of a Winchester

John stared at his oldest incredulously as the boy motioned him outside the door of the motel room and closed it gently behind them.

"What the hell happened at that mall, Dean?" John hurled words like weapons. "Who am I going back there to kill?" The older man was shaken and was having trouble hiding it. When both boys had arrived back at the motel, his oldest had freakin' tears in his eyes and his youngest ... well, Sam had limped a silent beeline for the bathroom and locked himself in, but not before John heard a single sob that he'd been unable to smother.

It was the saddest damned thing John had seen in a while, and he was going to make some asshole pay for the free show.

Dean shook his head to let his father know he needed a minute. He turned away and used both palms flat against his eyes to wipe away the tears. Then he took a shuddering breath, whipped out a handkerchief and blew his nose. When he was ready, he turned back to his father.

"Who did this, Dean?"

Dean's voice sounded rusty, unused. "Some guy at the glasses store. He … uh … he accused Sam of shoplifting. Said some really mean shit."

John frowned. "Words, Dean. Those are just words. That's what has Sam all upset?"

Dean shook his head.

"What then? Did you have a run-in with the cops? Do we need to leave?"

Dean looked away. "Dad … did you know they make glasses that can correct color blindness?"

John stopped short, felt all the breath leave his body. "What?"

Dean nodded, "They do. And Sam, he found a pair and put them on."

John felt a smile forming. "Did they work?"

Dean snorted, "Oh yeah, the fuckers worked." He blew his nose again. "They cost almost $4,000, but they worked."

John felt water forming in the corners of both eyes. "Well, shit."

An hysterical laugh bubbled up out of Dean, "I know, right?" He stuffed the rag back in his pocket. "Sam … he just wanted to see, you know? Wanted to look around, but the asshole guy, he thought Sam was trying to steal the ugly things."

John breathed deep, "He made Sam give them back?"

Dean shook his head. "Called him a no good shoplifter, told him to get a job. THEN he snatched the things right off Sam's face while the kid …"

John's lips formed a thin line. "What, Dean? While Sam what?"

"Sam, he was just starin' at me. I think … I think he was tryin' to commit me to memory or something, then the guy …" Dean turned away, his shoulders shaking. "It's so fuckin' unfair!" He snarled, his fist crashing against the cheap metal of the door.

John blinked rapidly and looked away, running his tongue across suddenly dry lips. He dropped a comforting hand on his son's shoulder, and the two stood there, feeling like they'd just lost the biggest war of all.

###

Sam sat on the edge of tub, his bad leg stretched straight out in front of him, and silently wondered how much more disappointment he was expected to take without just giving up.

Why did he have to ever step foot inside that optical store? Why had Dad's glasses that he'd owned for every bit of 8 years suddenly decided to break, and why had Dad, who was famous for his procrastination when it came to self-care, suddenly decided it was time to have them fixed?

And why did Joanie have to tell him the words he'd longed to hear for every second of every day of his pitiful life?

Joanie.

Sam smiled and closed his eyes. He could still see her, though he had no idea what colors she'd worn. He thought maybe a blue smock and a yellow name tag. And her hair had been nearly the same color as Dean's.

Looking at her had been like looking straight into a rainbow.

And Dean.

Sam swiped angrily at the single tear that shook its way loose from his lashes and began the silent journey down his left cheek.

Dean was just … he was just …

Beautiful.

Sam had always known, by the way other people reacted to him, that Dean was handsome. There'd always been lines of girls watching and waiting at any school they'd ever attended. And Sam could see that his brother kept himself together in a nice, tight package.

Dean in full technicolor, though … that took Sam's breath away. He could have looked at him for forever and never grown tired.

Sam struggled to his feet and studied his reflection. He would have liked to have seen himself before …

And Dad too.

Sam sighed.

$3000.

He snorted. Yeah, that wasn't happening anytime soon.

He stared at himself in the mirror and gave the wrecked kid staring back a good talking to.

" _Suck it up, Sam. Lots of people have to deal with worse things than just being color blind. You could be all alone out there. Could be an orphan or something. No Dad. No Dean. You could be missing an arm or a leg. Could have some kind of terminal disease that's painful as well as deadly."_

He sighed again. Reaching for the last clean washcloth, he ran it full of icy water and pressed it to his face. The shock felt good - helped to ground him. He took a shuddering breath and started when a knock sounded on the bathroom door.

"Sammy? Put it away, man. Me and Dad wanna talk to you." Dean's voice.

Sam snorted. His brother always did have a way with words.

"Gimme a minute." Sam advised, steeling himself. Damn. This was embarrassing. It was bad enough that Dean had watched him go to pieces. He'd meant to have it under control before Dad caught him blubbering like a baby.

Taking one last look at himself in the mirror, Sam hoped most of the redness was gone from his face. Shrugging and resigning himself to yet another thing that was out of his control, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

###

John glanced up as his youngest slipped onto the bed nearest the bathroom, and he felt a moment of pride. The kid had himself completely together in the face of this latest debacle. He even looked sheepish. The older man smiled and moved to sit next to the teen.

"So … how's the foot?" John went for icebreaker.

Sam sniffed. "Good. It's fine."

"So the worms helped?" John joked.

Sam felt a smile creep onto his face, "Yeah. They helped."

John sighed. "So … Dean tells me you found something you wanted for your birthday?" He placed a hand on Sam's knee. "Son. I'm … I'm sorry I … you know … missed that. I know it was a big deal to you."

Sam felt his face tinge pink. He shrugged, staring hard at the floor. "It's no biggie. M'not a kid anymore."

"No." John smiled. "No, you're not a kid anymore. You're almost grown, Sam. And I know I don't say it often enough, but I'm proud of you, son."

Sam stopped breathing for a moment. He looked up, confused. He'd just been crying like a two-year-old in front of Dean and Dad, and Dad was proud of him?

John read his mind. "That had to be a blow, Sam. I get it. Dean gets it. You got yourself together anyway. That takes discipline."

John shoulder bumped him. "Right?"

"Yes, Sir." Sam whispered. "I guess."

John sat silent for a moment. "We're gonna figure this out, okay?"

Sam looked up, "Figure what out?"

"The glasses." John stood, determined. "We'll find a way, Sam. I promise you. We'll get you those glasses."

And for a moment, Sam forgot how to breathe. Those glasses cost over $3,000. No way could his dad ever afford a pair of $3,000 glasses. Sam remembered how long John had needed his own glasses before he ever gave in and bought them. And even then, they came from a thrift store. John had spent a good half-hour trying on every pair in the old cigar box before finding a pair that worked for him.

Sam couldn't let his family spend money like that just on him, not for something that wasn't absolutely necessary. Sure, they'd be nice to have, but they wouldn't save his life or anything. He shook his head, gearing up to argue.

But John just held up a hand. "Don't even try it, Sam. Glasses like that? They'll make you a better hunter. What happened the other night might not have happened if you'd had glasses like that." He winked at his son. "I consider something like that an investment in your future, in all our futures. It could help save your life someday, or Dean's life, or mine."

Sam felt a first painful pang of hope rise up in his chest.

"Now, we can't get the ones you saw tonight, obviously, but there has to another pair somewhere that costs a little less."

Sam piped up, "I was thinking maybe I could make a pair."

John paused, exchanged a glance with Dean. "Make a pair? You think you could do that?"

Dean jumped in excitedly. "Hell yeah, Sammy! If anyone could do it, it's your geeky ass, right?"

Sam grinned then, the sorrow of the last few hours fading. He stood excitedly. "Well, I mean, I'd need to do some research. But Joanie, she said the glasses corrected for missing cone cells in the eyes. I mean, if some big company can make them, why can't I?"

"Joanie?" That the kid that came to get me?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded.

"Nice kid. I liked her. Too bad she has to work for a big, fat dickwad of a boss."

Sam agreed, skipping over his encounter with Lou completely. "Maybe after we're done with this hunt, Dad? Maybe I could take the time to start researching the glasses then." Sam moved to sit in front of his laptop. "The sooner we can figure this out, the sooner I can get started." He raised the lid, his forehead creasing in concentration.

And from across the room, John and Dean locked glances, both smiling. The youngest Winchester was resilient, they had to give him that.

"That sounds like a good plan, Sam." John offered. "Real good."

Dean flounced the few feet to the table and folded himself into the chair across from his brother. He grabbed Sam's notebook and pen and poised himself to take notes. "I'll help you, Sammy. Whatcha got?"


	5. Jory

Dean glanced up at the knock on the door. "That him?"

John nodded, stepping to the door with a hand on his holstered gun. "Should be." He leaned into the metal and called softly. "Who is it?"

"Jory Pendleton."

John nodded and opened the door a crack, frowning at the … kid … who stood looking back at him. "You're Jory?" He asked, surprised.

The kid grinned and ran a nervous hand over the hairs on the back of his neck. "Guilty." He confessed. And when John made no further move to open the door, he cocked his head and asked boldly, "Can I come in?"

John stared, silent, and finally fell back a single step, bringing the door with him as Jory stepped inside.

The boy stood there, obviously no older than Dean, in skinny jeans and a crop top. He wore black eyeliner under both eyes, a ring in each earlobe and colorful tattoos that ran the length of each arm from shoulder to wrist. His dyed blond hair was cut short in the back and brushed long to hang over his eyes in front.

On his feet, he wore flat canvas high tops of neon pink.

Dean stood, snorting.

"Is there a problem?" Jory answered back, noticeably bristling.

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. Should I shake your hand or date you?"

Jory paused, silent, then smiled and licked his lips. "Sorry, mate. I don't mix business with pleasure."

"And ain't that damned shame?" Dean shot back, perturbed. This was the guy who was supposed to help them crack the case? The one who'd been on the case for over a week and still didn't have a clue?"

Dean harrumphed.

John cleared his throat, tossing his oldest a warning glare. He offered his hand. "Jory." He said, "I'm John. This is Dean. That's Sam over there at the table."

Jory shook with a surprisingly strong grip and grinned again. "Pleasure. Say, you wouldn't happen to have any whiskey in the house?"

Dean's eyebrows shot up because he'd have bet his wallet the dude was a mixed-drink kinda guy, complete with the girly umbrella. He looked to John.

But the oldest Winchester just smiled. "And how old are you, son?"

Jory held up his hands. "Ah, you can't blame a bloke for trying, anyway." He moved to stand behind Sam. "Having any luck there, Sam?"

Sam stared up at the stranger with his mouth open. "Ah … yeah. I think, actually. Yeah." He answered, pulling himself together.

Jory pulled out the chair Dean had just vacated, spun it around and settled his lanky body into it backwards. "So let's hear it, yeah?"

Dean scowled, moving to stand beside his brother, arms crossed. "How about you share first, seein' as how you've been on the case for nearly two weeks now?"

Jory nodded, "Sure enough then." He said, and launched into the details of their current hunt.

"So we have four kids, all teenagers, all on the young side, and all dead." He held up four fingers and ticked them off one by one. "Melicia Wrought, Daryl Daniels, Taylor Molson and Lara Grannerly." He looked at John as he confessed. "Can't find a single thing they had in common. Melicia was a churchgoer; none of the others ever darkened the door of a sanctuary. Daryl was gay; the others - all straight. Taylor skipped school more than he didn't. Lara was all honors. Two were athletic. One was in a wheelchair. One was into performance art. Families didn't know each other. They all went to different schools. None of them knew the others." He stopped then to catch his breath.

"Wow." Sam breathed, blinking at the abundance of information and feeling inadequate. All he'd managed to find so far were the names and addresses of each of the deceased, the names of the schools they'd attended and whether they had siblings and how many.

Jory grinned at him. "So how about you? What'd you find out?"

Sam blushed and stammered, "Uh, well, not as much as you."

John cut in. "These curse boxes, were they all the same? All contained the same item?"

Jory shook his head. "That's the thing. The boxes had no more in common than the kids, other than that each one held something each kid apparently wanted more than life itself."

"Meaning?" John stared.

"Well, Melicia - she was the wheelchair kid. She got a wheelchair that converted into a standing brace like a freakin' Transformer." Jory related, big-eyed, and Dean nodded. He could appreciate the description. "As soon as she sat in it, it elevated her to a standing position and enabled her to walk without crutches."

"That sounds amazing." Sam breathed, picturing such an invention.

"Yeah? Well, not so much. Two days later, the thing had just sort of … inhaled her. They found her all twisted up with pieces of her legs actually INSIDE the metal pieces of the chair. Like INSIDE, INSIDE. Like the metal had molded with her skin."

Dean shuddered. Not so much like a Transformer after all.

John nodded. "And the others?"

"Daryl opened a letter from his favorite celebrity. It was apparently a reply to one he'd written. In it, the guy came out of the closet and confessed that it was Daryl's letter that had inspired him to come out publicly."

Dean squinted. "How'd that turn out?"

Jory looked slightly ill. "He was killed in a bus accident on his way to meet the guy backstage at a concert the next town over. The letter was inside his shirt, stuck to his skin, with a piece of rebar nailing it in place."

"Did they question the celebrity?" John asked, taking notes in his journal.

Jory nodded. "Guy never wrote the letter. Had no idea what the cops were talking about. Turns out, he wasn't even gay."

Sam's eyes were huge. "What about Taylor and Lara?"

"Taylor had lost his place on the school football team because his grades sucked." Jory paused, "Because he never went to school you see."

Sam nodded.

"Seems he opened a gym bag that had been left beside his locker. Inside was his uniform, helmet and a note from the coach telling him he'd been reinstated."

"But he wasn't." Sam guessed.

Jory shook his head. "Kid got dressed, headed out onto the field in front of God and everybody and got turned back in the most embarrassing way possible."

Sam winced. "And it killed him?"

"Well, not the embarrassment, but the opposing team running onto the field. Somehow, none of them saw him. They trampled the kid to death right there on the sidelines."

John nodded. "And the last one?"

"Lara Grannerly." Jory added.

"Yeah. What'd she open?"

Jory swallowed hard. "She opened up a wicker basket that was a prop for the play her drama club was putting on. She played Cleopatra. The basket was supposed to have a big rubber cobra in it sent over by someone her parents knew in Hollywood. They'd used it in an actual movie they'd filmed as an after-school special."

"Let me guess, the cobra?" Dean offered.

Jory shuddered, nodding, "Wasn't made of rubber."

Dean stared. "Yech."

"You're not kidding."

John cleared his throat. "So all these kids got the thing they'd been wanting most." He said, almost absently.

Jory nodded.

"But on a much different scale." Sam interrupted, making the room go silent.

"What do you mean?" Jory asked, suspicious. And Dean instantly bristled like a bulldog.

"Well, I mean, wanting to walk again is hardly on the same level as wanting a prop for play, right?"

"Good catch, Sammy." Dean nodded, shooting Jory the stink-eye.

"I mean, I can understand the wanting to walk, and I get the guy who was too afraid to tell people he was gay. But the other two … I don't know. They just seem … superficial?"

Jory nodded, conceding Sam's point. "Like I said, no similarities."

"And these boxes, they weren't even boxes, right? There was a gym bag and an envelope and a basket. What was the wheelchair in?" Sam asked.

"A metal case like a musical instrument would come in."

"Were they marked?" Dean wondered aloud. "I mean, were they obviously warded?"

Jory nodded. "I saw the containers in each case. They were definitely curse boxes. All sigiled up and everything."

The room fell silent for a moment while the hunters considered all the possibilities. Finally, John spoke, breaking the silence. Well," He conceded. "Either the victims were chosen at random, or there's something linking them all together that we just haven't found yet."

Dean nudged his brother. "Did you get anything else, Sammy?"

Sam bit his lip, embarrassed at the small bit of information he had to contribute. "Well," He said, "they all came from solid families." He shrugged.

"Solid?" Dean inquired. "So … like mom, dad, siblings? All happy together?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. And in each case, the kid who died had an older brother."

John inhaled sharply. "That's a pattern." He shot Sam a smile. "Good work, kiddo."

And from his seat across from Jory, Sam saw the young hunter stiffen and look away, anger simmering just beneath the surface. But an instant later, he looked back and smiled. "Yeah, Sam. Good job, man. That's some solid research right there."


	6. Lightbulb

Sam sat back, pressing his palms flat to both eyes. "I don't know what we're missing here, but it's important." He sighed.

Dean studied him. The kid looked tired.

Too tired.

"You okay, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, "Just … my eyes are tired."

Dean reached over and closed the laptop. "I guess so. What's it been? Four, five hours straight? You know it's okay to take a break."

Sam nodded. "I know. It's just …"

Dean stood up, stretching, "Just … you wanna crack this case so you can get started on the real research?"

Jory frowned, "Real research?"

Sam shot his brother a warning look, but Dean, uncharacteristically, wasn't attuned to his brother's channel. He nodded. "Yeah, Sam's color blind. He's gonna do a little research on how to make these glasses he found out at the mall."

Jory stared, "Color blind? Really? That's … gotta suck."

"Well, it did. But now we know it's fixable, so there's that." Sam answered quietly. There was just something about Jory …

Dean, however, was harboring more and more respect for the guy. Just listening to the stories he told - kid had seen some real action - and had taken down some nasty big bads.

All by himself.

"Take a break, Sammy. Lie down and rest for a while." Dean urged. He turned to Jory, "Hey, you wanna head over to the library with me? Check out the local papers? See if anything like this has happened here before?"

Jory perked up immediately, sitting up on the bed and reaching for his shoes. "Sure, man. Sounds like a solid idea."

Sam watched, a sick feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. "I'll get my jacket." He said, rising.

Dean shook his head. "No, you won't. You'll get your pillow is what you'll get."

"Dean …" Sam started.

"Uh unh. No way you're traipsing all over town after a marathon research session, Sam. Your foot needs time to heal, and I can tell you got a headache."

"Yeah," Jory cut in. "I was wondering about that foot. Get hurt on a hunt, Sam?" He asked, tying bright green shoelaces.

"I'm fine." Sam said between clenched teeth. "Dean." He shot his brother a pleading look. "I'm FINE."

"Don't wanna hear it, geek boy. You're stayin'. We're goin'. That's final." He placed a hand on the door and turned to Jory. "You ready?"

Jory nodded and joined Dean at the door. Once the older boy was through, he turned to look back at Sam, speaking quietly. "Done a lot of hunts, Sam. Never managed to get myself quite that mangled up." He winked, "Shit like that? Gets people killed." He rapped his knuckles twice on the door and grinned before stepping out and closing it behind him.

And from his corner of the room, Sam sank down on the edge of his bed, letting his jacket fall from lifeless fingers, and feeling a cold loneliness settle like fog over his heart.

###

"Where's your brother?" John asked, stripping off his weapons and placing them on the table as he eyed the exhausted kid in front of him.

"Library."

John nodded. "Alone? You passed up a chance to hit the library? That's not like you."

Sam shrugged.

John studied him, "What's goin' on, Sam?"

Sam shook his head.

"Spill it, son."

"Nothing's going on. Dean went to the library and took Jory with him. I stayed here." Sam continued to stare at the screen in front of him.

John blinked. Dean leaving Sam behind? "That his idea or yours?"

"His."

John nodded, noting the deflated tone in the kid's voice. "Well … he was probably just worried about you."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. Probably."

"Sam …" John started.

But Sam interrupted him. "I'm tired." He said, rising from the table and closing the laptop. "I'm gonna lay down for a bit."

John watched as his youngest lowered himself gingerly to the bed and curled up in a ball on his side facing the wall. He sank down on the edge of the other bed and sighed. Timing was a bitch.

"Sam."

"What?"

"I … uh … I think I have a lead, but I have to leave for a few days." John tossed out, guilt washing over him like an ocean tide.

Sam frowned, leaning up on both elbows. "Everything okay?" He asked, concerned.

John smiled. "Yeah, son. Everything is fine. I just have something I need to check out. I want you and Dean to hang around here and keep chipping away. We'll find that missing piece."

Sam nodded. "I could go with you. Dean … Dean has Jory."

John made a mental note to kick Dean's ass. "Dean has you, Sam. And you have him. I know I've taught you both better than to rely on strangers, even other hunters."

Sam stared, "Better tell Dean that. I think he forgot." he mumbled, feeling a mixture of guilt at ratting his brother out and satisfaction at sharing his misery.

"First think I'll do when I get back."

Sam nodded.

"I'll call your brother when I get where I'm going. In the meantime, you get some rest, okay? Need me to take a look at that foot before I go?"

Sam had a brief moment of indecision, but ultimately opted not to mention the slow fire that was building in the heel of his injured foot. Dean would be back soon, and Sam just felt more comfortable letting himself be vulnerable in front of his brother than he did his father. "No, it's fine."

John nodded. "Okay then." He stepped forward and reached down to clasp Sam on the shoulder. "You be careful, you hear? Remember what I taught you? I'll be back in three days, no more."

Sam nodded. "Sure, Dad."

John smiled, "Look after your brother."

"I will."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Jory is … a novelty. The new will wear off soon. You get what I'm saying?"

Sam paused, silent. He wasn't so sure. He nodded anyway. "Yeah. I get it."

"Okay then." John picked up his bag and strode to the door, winking. "Be good, son."

###

Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so hard as Jory sat across from him in the Impala and regaled him with tales taller than any Bobby had ever concocted.

"So she was naked?" Dean chuckled, eyebrows raised. "That's your story?"

Jory raised his hand to the sky. "If I'm lyin', I'm dyin', Dean. Naked as the day is long, fingernails like claws, dripping blood in puddles 'round her feet, and she still kept comin'. And I swear, she was SMILING, Dean. SMILING!"

Dean slapped his knee and guffawed. "Damn Jory. Maybe you shoulda took her up on it. Witch or no witch?"

Jory snorted, leaning back. "Nah. You know, I thought it was pretty obvious which way my door swings, but for a witch, she sure didn't have the second sight, you know?"

Dean chuckled. "No, apparently not."

"Now, a warlock …" Jory began, and Dean lost it completely.

"Ah," He sniffed, swiping at his eyes. "You gotta tell Sammy some of these. Kid could use something to laugh about these days."

Jory smiled, nodding. "Yeah, I'll have to do that." he said, falling silent. Then, "So … color blind, hunh?"

Dean nodded, "Since birth. Sucks too. If there's anybody who's able to see the good in the world, even in its darkest places, it's Sammy. It's not fair the world can't give back a little."

Jory nodded, "And these glasses you mentioned?"

"Introspecs, I think they were called. Purple and ugly as shit, but the fuckers worked."

"So why didn't you get 'em for him? Doesn't seem like you deny him much of anything."

Dean looked crosswise at Jory. "Sam's not spoiled." He clarified. "He just never asks for anything. The kid just takes whatever shit me and Dad and the world throw at him, turns it into something good and gives it back, new and improved." Dean thought about that. "He's like a freakin' recycling plant, my brother."

"So?"

"So what?"

"So, why not buy him the glasses?"

Dean shot him a sideways glance. "You got an extra $4,000 lyin' around?"

"Ah." Jory answered, nodding. "Gotcha."

"Yeah, but we'll figure it out though. Sammy, he's the sharpest tack in the box. He says he's gonna make a pair, he'll make a pair."

Jory was silent, thinking. "You're proud of him, hunh?"

"Hell yeah, I'm proud of him. Sam's the best person I know. Best person I've ever known."

Jory nodded, pulling out a flask and taking a long pull. He handed it to Dean. "Had a brother once."

Dean drank, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah? Older or younger?"

"Older."

Dean nodded, waiting.

"He … uh … It was a … uh … an okami."

Dean swallowed hard. Okami were nasty things. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

Jory shrugged. "Lowell was sorta like you, I guess. I wasn't much like Sam though."

Dean struggled for something to say that didn't sound canned. "So … when?"

"Two years ago. Had a hunt down in Texas. I made it back. He didn't."

Dean cleared his throat. "That's rough, man. Sorry." Then, "I can't even imagine …" Dean felt a little sick, picturing himself in the same situation, picturing Sam being forced to face off against an okami, picturing the thing's pointed, yellow fangs coming toward his innocent kid brother …

Dean shuddered.

Jory shrugged. "Shit happens, yeah?" He took another swig from the flask.

Dean nodded. "Yeah." he agreed, swallowing hard.

"Say, you wanna ... uh ... stop off somewhere? Night's still young?" Jory suddenly asked.

And Dean didn't. All he really wanted to do was get home to Sam, but he glanced sideways at the kid on the seat beside him and felt guilty. Kid obviously needed someone to talk to. He wavered.

"Nah, it's okay. I get it. You need to get back to the kid. I'd feel the same way if it was Lowell waitin' for me." Jory took a long pull on the flask and turned his head away to stare at the passing scenery.

And Dean made a decision. "Yeah. Hell, yeah. We can stop off somewhere. Dad's with Sam. They'll be fine." He pulled the Impala over to the side of the road and sat drumming his fingers on the wheel. "Did I see a bar back there about five miles back?" He asked, trying to remember if the bright neon sign had heralded a bar or a diner.

Jory grinned, "Yeah. That place with the shit-green neon?"

Dean snorted. "You know we gotta check THAT place out."

Jory nodded happily as Dean made the three-point turn right there in the middle of the deserted highway. He liked Dean. Liked him a lot, he thought. And in the back of his mind, a small idea was born that would eventually mature into a nightmare.

Well, at least if your name was Sam Winchester.

Jory leaned over and cranked up the radio, shooting Dean a smile.

Yeah, he liked Dean.


	7. Morning Light

Dean parked the Impala three lots down from their room and cut the engine. He frowned at the building's exterior. Run-down was one thing, but this latest dive Dad had parked them in looked like the setting of serial killer movie, and Dean swore those were shell casings littering the ground by the overflowing garbage can. He unfolded himself from the front seat and stretched, groaning. He hadn't meant to make a night of it, but Jory had a way of ordering drinks almost faster than Dean could toss them back.

And he had a reputation to maintain.

Truth was, he'd reached his limit about two hours in and had been forced to spend the remainder of the night drinking Cokes to sober up enough for the drive home. He'd dropped the kid off at the motel a few miles back and then stopped to pick up enough greasy breakfast to keep Sam and Dad at bay.

He wasn't really looking forward to facing Dad after staying gone all night and not calling, but his ancient phone had wheezed its last around midnight.

Totally not his fault.

Dean steeled himself as he unlocked the rickety motel door and swung it inward. He froze instantly.

Sam sat facing the door, sound asleep. He'd commandeered the only chair in the room, his head tipped uncomfortably forward onto his chest, hair wild. He was obviously standing guard because in his right hand he held Dean's old .45.

The older boy stopped breathing for a moment when he realized the safety was off and Sam's finger rested quietly on the trigger, the barrel of the weapon poised to shoot Sam right through the knee.

"Son of a …" he whispered, stepping inside and slipping the door quietly closed behind him. He set the greasy bag of breakfast food on the bed and gently approached his brother like he would a spooked horse. Reaching down, he carefully manipulated the barrel away from Sam's body and pointed it toward the floor.

"Sam." he spoke quietly.

Nothing.

"Sammy." he offered a little louder, and placed a comforting hand on the kid's shoulder when the boy suddenly jolted awake. "Easy. It's just me, little brother."

"Dean?" Sam muttered, not fully functional.

"The one and only, Sam. Can I have the gun?"

"Hunh?"

"The gun, Sammy. Give me the gun." He repeated, his hand closing tight around the barrel.

And Sam must have suddenly realized what Dean meant because he gave up the weapon willingly as the older boy breathed a sigh of relief. He engaged the safety immediately and rolled his eyes. "What the hell, Sam? I know me and Dad taught you better than that." Dean stepped back and placed the weapon on the nightstand. "You damn near blew your kneecap off."

"What?" Sam asked, disoriented.

Dean stared down, frowning. "Where's Dad anyway? He leave all ready?"

Sam sat silent, a range of confused expressions drifting across his face. "Uh … he left. Uh … yesterday."

Dean stopped in his perusal of the breakfast sandwiches. "What? Yesterday? Where'd he go?"

Sam sighed, standing. He limped over to the bed and carefully spread his long form over it. "He had a … a thing … you know … a … um … a lead." He tossed a hand across his face. "Not coming back for a few days."

Dean's heart sank. That meant Sam had been alone all night long while he and Jory drank beer and flirted with half the barroom. He glanced toward the bed guiltily. "So … umm … you sat guard all night long with my old handgun?"

"There was a fight. Outside. A guy got shot."

Dean dropped the bag of sandwiches and spun around. "Holy hell, Sam! Why didn't you call me?" he barked without thinking. "You okay?" The older boy cursed the dives that Dad always left them in. This one was one of worse they'd seen in years.

Sam rolled over to face the wall. "I did. I called you six times. Leave me alone … sick …"

And that was all it took to send Dean straight to Sam's bedside. He stared down at the kid, noting his flushed face. "Sick how? You throwin' up?" He reached down and managed to feel the heat emanating from Sam's forehead before the boy batted his hand away.

"Mmm." Sam replied, trying to curl up into a ball. He reached back and tugged the blanket over himself.

Dean frowned, feeling a sick suspicion creep over him. He dug his phone from his pocket and realized it was dead. Apparently, it had been that way for awhile. He cursed and tossed it on the nightstand next to his old gun. Then he moved down to stand at Sam's feet. He tugged the blanket back and leaned close, trying to examine Sam's bandage without touching.

"Sammy?"

"Mmm?"

"Dad change your bandage before he left?"

"Don't remember." Sam whined. "Leave me alone, Dean. I just wanna sleep, please?"

And Dean grimaced at the plea. He had a hard time denying his kid brother anything when the boy was in pain, and suddenly Dean just knew - it was that sixth sense that only kicked in when Sam was in trouble - that foot was infected. It had to hurt like a bitch. He sighed.

"Sorry, Sammy. We gotta get it cleaned up. I'm pretty sure it's infected." He reached down and wrapped a gentle hand around Sam's ankle, noting the angry red color peeking out beyond the edge of the gauze. He shifted the foot to get to the end of the wrapping.

Sam shot up in the bed, hissing. "Dean! Don't!"

The older boy looked up, reluctance written all over his face, but there was no way around it. The next hour was going to be excruciating for his kid brother. He stood, reaching for the heavy-duty prescription painkillers. He shook two out and offered them to Sam, handing him a bottle of water.

"Here, take these first. We'll give 'em time to kick in and take the edge off before I unwrap it, okay?"

Sam took the pills and swallowed them both dry, chasing them with half the bottle of water. When he was done, he handed the bottle back and looked at Dean through desperate eyes. "Please don't, Dean. It really hurts."

Dean swallowed hard and shook his head. "Why didn't you tend to it last night, Sammy?"

Sam stared straight back, shrugging. "Just … it hurts too bad."

Dean nodded, "You tell Dad?"

Sam was silent for a moment, then, "No."

"No?"

Sam shook his head.

Dean nodded again, smiling to hide his fear. "Well, we'll figure it out just like we always do. You hungry? Think you can eat something? You should probably try with those painkillers."

But Sam shook his head and sunk back down in the bed. "Can't. I'll puke."

"How about a nice, girly raspberry iced tea?" Dean offered, moving to the table and coming back with a tall fountain drink. "Come on. It's your favorite?"

And at the words "raspberry iced tea" Sam raised up on an elbow. He leaned over and sipped from the straw while Dean held the cup, giving his brother the sad beagle eyes the whole time.

Dean snorted. "That's okay, Sam. I'll do all the work." He teased.

Sam pulled away then, "Sorry." He whispered, reaching out a shaking hand for the cup.

But Dean batted it away. "I'm just razzin' you, Sammy. Go on and drink. I'll hold it." The older boy was feeling guiltier by the minute, thinking of Sam alone and so scared he'd sat up all night with a gun in his hand while he was obviously sick as a dog. He'd called Dean six times, and his big brother hadn't bothered to answer. And now the kid had a fever and probably a raging infection and was likely going to end up in the hospital all because Dean had chosen Jory's needs over his brother's.

He felt like a total douchebag.


	8. Infected

Sam watched from the bed as Dean moved purposely around the room. The drugs were really good, apparently, because he felt sort of far away and loopy. He couldn't really feel his foot anymore unless he moved it around, and then the pain shot through him like a bullet splitting flesh. He was scared, and maybe he said that thought out loud because suddenly Dean stopped gathering supplies and looked at him all worried.

"Ain't nothing to be scared of, Sammy. I'm Batman, right?"

And Sam nodded because he believed Dean, unquestioningly believed him. But why did the older boy look so nervous?

Sam watched as Dean approached the bed with a basin and a pair of scissors. His eyes lazily followed his brother's movements as the older boy tugged on a pair of surgical gloves.

"Can you stretch out your leg for me?" Dean asked gently.

And Sam smiled. Dean was using his Sam voice. The one he only ever used on his little brother. Nobody else in the world but Sam ever got to hear that voice come out of Dean. Not Dad and certainly not old Jory-what's-his-name. Sam hadn't heard that voice since before the cemetery.

Sam complied, tensing up and hissing immediately. Shit. It hurt.

The lines around Dean's mouth grew tight. "S'okay. I got you, little brother. It's gonna sting a little is all. You ready?"

Sam nodded and didn't whine. He absolutely did not whine like a whipped puppy.

Dean closed his eyes for a second when that sound came out of him, and Sam could tell that his brother wanted to be anywhere else in the world right now except beside him, ready to tend to yet another problem that Sam had gotten himself into. He could tell because Dean's hands were shaking, and Dean's hands never shook.

"M'sorry." Sam slurred. "You don't have to … I can do it."

Dean smiled then, shaking his head. "Yeah , I can see that." he shot back, taking careful hold of one corner of the gauze that wrapped around Sam's foot. "Just ... breathe deep for me, okay? Breathe through it, Sam. You can do this."

And he lifted Sam's foot and began quickly unwrapping it.

Sam instantly saw stars forming behind his eyelids. He whimpered, even though he tried his best not to, and he heard the pain reflected in his brother's voice.

"Almost done. Just hang in there for me, Sammy."

And Sam did. He shoved the pain down and breathed fast and hard until Dean had the foot laid bare. Sam tried to steal a glance at it then and gasped. It was all swollen and shiny with little patches of white where the worst of the burns had been.

"Don't look at it." Dean barked, and Sam recognized the clipped tone. It was the same tone Dean used when he was pissed beyond words.

Dean was pissed beyond words, and it was all his fault.

Sam's breath hitched before he could stop it.

Dean's voice was different then, and he sounded sorry. "Sammy … just … close your eyes for me, okay? It's fine. I got this."

"It's infected." Sam mourned, sadly.

Dean nodded, sighing. "Yeah, it is. It's not too bad though. We got it in time. Just needs cleaned up and re-bandaged, and then I'll get you some antibiotics, and you'll be good to go, right?"

Sam was silent, eyes closed. But he felt Dean glance up at him.

"Sammy? You with me here?"

Sam nodded.

"Good."

"Sam?"

"What?"

"I gotta … this skin … some of it has to come off, okay? I gotta take it off so the infection comes out."

Sam's eyes shot open, and he tried to draw his foot back out of Dean's grasp, "No! Dean, don't! Please!"

But Dean held on, determined, mouth set in a grim line. "I have to, Sammy. I'm sorry. It's the only way to keep it from getting worse."

Sam was sort of crying then, and hating himself for the weakness. "Dean, please!" He begged. "Please don't! Dean, it hurts!"

But Dean just swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. And when he opened them again, he was all business. And Sam knew then, that this was how it was going to be. He grabbed the sheets in both fists and gritted his teeth.

###

Dean carefully placed his brother's foot back on the covers and fastened off the gauze, which was an accomplishment considering how badly his hands were shaking. He busied himself removing the gloves and gathering up the basin and the scissors and the … the … parts of Sam he'd had to peel away. He took it all into the bathroom without looking at his brother and turned the shower on high so he could puke without Sam hearing him. When he had himself back under control, he sterilized everything he could and shoved everything else into a trash bag and carried it outside to the motel dumpster. And as hard as it was, and as much as he didn't want to, he made himself go back inside their room then and look at his brother.

The kid was curled up on his side in the fetal position, shaking with big, silent sobs that he refused to give voice to.

And Dean sighed. His fault. This was all his fault. Sam was in this mess because Dean had gotten cocky and hadn't been paying attention. Sam was lying in that bed right now, hurting like this, because of him, and he couldn't stand it. He cleared his throat.

"You'll … uh … you'll feel better now. Might take a while, but the infection is out. Should heal if you stay off it." And Dean winced at how cold he sounded. He didn't mean to, it was just that his guilt refused to let him go.

And on the bed, Sam stiffened at his tone and made an effort to pull himself together. "Okay." He said, all high-pitched and embarrassing. And then, in the same breath, "Thanks, Dean."

And Dean stood there for a bit, knowing what he needed to do but loathe to leave Sam alone to do it. "I … uh … I need to go get you some antibiotics, Sam. You need the good stuff that comes through the IV. I saw a clinic right around the corner.

Sam sniffed, wanting anything but to be alone right now, but he didn't want to be an even bigger albatross than he'd been already. "Okay." He said simply, and took a shuddering breath. "Be careful."

Dean nodded. "Okay then. I'll … I guess I'll be right back then."

Sam nodded, pulled himself into a sitting position so he could at least look like he was coping instead of crying on the bed like a big baby. He wanted to say a proper goodbye at least.

"Okay. Don't get caught." Sam cautioned, swiping at his eyes with flattened palms.

Dean's mouth quirked up, "Dude, I'm Batman."

Sam snorted, rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just get back here in one piece, okay?"

And Dean grinned then, "You got it. Keep this door locked. I shouldn't be long." He stepped out and pulled the closed behind him, and Sam heard his key turn in the lock.

He sat back then and tried to let the painkillers take over.

It was a long, lazy spiral down.

Sam smiled from the bed. He was propped up against the headboard and more comfortable than he could ever remember being. Dean had apparently worked his magic on the housekeeper because Sam had never seen so many pristine, white and fluffy pillows at any motel in any town they'd ever passed through.

He felt all sappy and gooey inside. His brother was back, and he had taken care of Sam's foot and his infection and rigged up an IV antibiotic drip and given Sam the REALLY good painkillers, and now all was right with the world.

Sam sighed and blinked sleepily. He could get used to this real easy.

And then Dean was back with the take-out, and he was hovering over Sam and chuckling as he reached down with a cool, damp cloth and wiped away a line of drool that was apparently dangling from the corner of Sam's mouth like a decoration.

"Nice, Sam. You're a droolin' fool. You know this, right?"

Sam nodded, grinned stupidly.

Dean snorted. "Feelin' good there, Samantha?"

"Good." Sam repeated, eyes drifting shut.

"Uh unh … not til you eat something. Otherwise, you'll be puking up those antibiotics that I damn near got caught stealing. Be a shame to waste 'em all in the toilet after I nearly broke myself gettin' 'em back here to you." Dean brought him a small container of something that looked like soup and peeled the top back carefully.

"Here. You can drink it. It'll be easier." He said, holding the cup to Sam's mouth. And Sam, who would normally die of embarrassment at the thought of letting his brother feed him, only smiled and leaned forward to take a sip.

And damn. It was good. Nice and warm and strong with real chicken broth and not that cheap bouillon crap they usually scored. Still, Sam felt himself drifting, the pull of the morphine too strong to fight.

"Well, all right then." He heard Dean say, but the older boy's voice was far away. "At least you got a few sips in you." He felt Dean's weight lift off the bed and felt his cool hand come down to rest for a moment on his forehead. Dean was checking him for fever, and the thought just made Sam feel loved. He felt himself smile.

"Thanks, Dean." He murmured, turning on his side and burrowing down into the pillow fortress. "Feel better now. M'sorry 'bout the ghost." He sighed, sadness creeping into his voice.

The room fell silent for a moment, and then Sam thought he heard his brother smile. "I know you are, bitch. Now go to sleep, Sammy."

Dean stood staring down at his little brother and feeling like he'd finally managed to do something right. He was sure the kid's foot would be fine now as long as he kept off the damned thing. That meant not getting out of bed for anything short of a bathroom emergency, and Dean swore he'd make the kid listen even if he had to keep him drugged out of his gourd until Dad got back.

He was sorry about the kids and curse boxes and all, but Sammy came first, and Dean didn't plan to forget that fact again anytime soon.

And if Jory didn't get that, too freakin' bad.

Dean settled down on the other bed with a sigh. He kicked off his boots, reached for his burger and the remote and muted the volume. He drifted off, watching reruns of Shock Theater til dawn.


	9. Fooled

Sam woke up slow, still woozy from the medication, as the past few hours came back to him. He stretched carefully to test the waters, and when his foot throbbed only a little, he smiled.

Dean.

Sam didn't know what he would do without his overbearing big brother to obsess over him. He'd have to remember to let Dean know that somehow over the next few days. Things had been so tense between them since the cemetery, and this newfound peace was a lovely respite. He chuckled softly to himself and rolled carefully onto his side to see if Dean was still taking up space in the bed beside his.

No snoring brother greeted his perusal, however. But there was a small, giftwrapped box resting on the blanket beside him. Sam gave it a second look, and his smile became a grin.

Dean.

Again.

He shifted himself until he was sitting up, and he shuffled around a bit to get nice and comfortable, and then he took the small gift in his hand and inspected it.

It was wrapped in childish birthday paper that sported large, colorful clowns in various poses, and Sam had to snicker. Definitely something Dean would find and buy, and Sam's name was written on the box in thick, black marker.

Again – Dean. Anyone else would have bought a sticker or a card.

He admired it for all of 30 seconds before he was eagerly tearing it open. Beneath the colorful wrapping lay a plain, gray box that had swirly patterns in the silk.

Looked expensive, was his first thought, and he frowned then.

Dean didn't have money to buy anything that came in a box this nice, and if he did, he certainly shouldn't be spending it on a birthday present for Sam – not when the insides of Dean's own boots were lined with cardboard to cover up the holes in the soles.

Sam almost didn't open it, thinking he would convince his brother to return whatever it was and get himself a decent pair of footwear in return.

He debated, setting the present back on the bed. That's definitely what he would do.

He wouldn't open it.

But would that hurt Dean's feelings though?

Should he at least open it first to make sure it was something extravagant that Sam had always wanted but didn't really need?

What could Dean have … ?

And Sam's eyes went wide as he suddenly remembered the glasses.

Dean couldn't have!

Could he?

He picked the box back up and glared at it.

It was the right size.

It COULD be a glasses case.

Dean wouldn't!

Would he?

Maybe Dad had something to do with it. Maybe Dean and Dad were both waiting in the bathroom right now to jump out and surprise him when he opened it. He glanced toward the bathroom, but the door was open, and the light was off.

No Dad or Dean huddling there, snickering into their hands.

Sam felt guilty and ecstatic at the same time. If it WAS the glasses, no way in hell could he keep them because either they were stolen or someone had sold something major to buy them.

Sam's heart stopped as an image of Dean's Impala imprinted itself on his brain.

No!

Dean! No!

And that was the deciding factor. Sam picked up the box and clicked it open.

His jaw dropped.

###

Dean sighed. Grocery duty was wearing a bit thin, and he wondered how much longer Dad would be gone. He pulled the two paper bags from Baby's trunk and balanced them in his arms, smiling when the box of Happy Charms shifted.

Sammy's favorite cereal, and quite the extravagance at nearly $3 a box.

That was okay, though. The kid needed some cheering up.

Dean smiled and shook his head as he jingled his keys in his hand to find the one that fit the motel door. Kid sure was resilient, and Dean knew as soon as he was awake, he'd be all grateful and trying to go out of his way to do nice things for Dean.

Sam was a good kid, better than either he or Dad deserved, and he had the sudden, sad thought that he didn't tell Sam that nearly often enough.

And Dad sure as hell didn't either.

And that thought sobered him up and wiped the smile right off his face. He would do better by Sam, starting today, starting right now.

He would, he vowed, as his key turned in the lock, and he swung the door inward. He stepped inside and saw Sam then.

His brother sat up in the bed, wide awake and grinning. He had a pair of what looked to be purple reading glasses in his hands and he raised them toward his face.

And on the bed beside him, a curse box covered in what looked like a dark-gray fabric with lighter lines of gray outlining the protective sigils.

On the bed beside him, a curse box.

Open.

Empty.

As Sam raised a strange pair of glasses to his face and put them on.

Dean's heart stopped in that moment, and the bags in his hand fell to the floor. He lunged for the bed, screaming.

"Sam! Don't!"

But it was too late.

Sam looked up at him through lenses of light purple, and the kid's face exploded into the biggest smile Dean had ever seen him wear.

It matched the size of the sudden, all-encompassing fear that nearly caused the older boy to vomit.


End file.
